Our Speckled Band
by hold.my.coat
Summary: A Sherlock Holmes fan in her early teenage years and her best friend (who had always called each other Sherlock and Watson) are suddenly thrust into the fictional world of Sherlock Holmes, now to them very real. And the other, smaller twist: The story is written from "Sherlock's" point of view.
1. Chapter 1

It was one early April morning that I awoke to the sound of an old lady's voice. "Mr Holmes, there is a young lady waiting for you in the sitting room. She seems in a considerable state of excitement, and insists upon seeing you." I, still half asleep and not hearing through what she said, replied groggily, "I'm coming." I staggered out of bed and to my closet. That's when I sprang fully awake.

These weren't my clothes! I spun around and looked at the room. This wasn't even my house! Then I realized what the old lady had said. It couldn't be.

* * *

I was standing over my best friend's bed when she sprang awake. I did a quick recall. "Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said I, "but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted it on me, and I on you."

"What Mrs Hudson? We've got a Mrs Hudson now? Sherlock, you– what is this?! Where are we?!"

"Woah, woah there. Calm down."

"What is this house and why is it only a quarter past seven?" A sudden realization swept across her face. "We're not... "

I took a deep breath. "We are."

* * *

I, fully dressed, carefully walked down the stairs, followed by my companion. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, rose as we entered.

"Good morning, madam," I greeted. "My name is.. Sherlock Holmes," I recited after a short pause noticeable to no one, save perhaps Watson. "This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr Watson.., before whom you may speak as freely as before myself. Oh, I am glad to see that Mrs Hudson had had the good sense to light a fire. Pray.. draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup.. of hot coffee, for I observe you are shivering," I said, even though I knew what was next. And what was made _me_ half shiver.

The woman changed her seat as requested, but said in a low voice, "It is not cold that makes me shiver."

"What is it, then?"

"It is fear, Mr Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see indeed that her face was full of agitation, with restless, frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were like that of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey.

 _I must speak more confidently,_ I told myself. I reached out and patted her forearm. "You must not fear," I told her soothingly. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come by train this morning, I see," I said, more out of myself then out of recitation. I was beginning to enjoy this.

"You know me, then?" The lady was surprised.

"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove," I replied, truthfully. "You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station."

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at me.

"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said I, smiling. "The left arm of your jacket is splattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save the dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only if you sit at the left-hand side of the driver." That's when I realized I hadn't even been outside yet. This was going to be one tough – yet exciting – day.


	2. Chapter 2 - Dr Roylott Makes a Call

"...and as soon as it was daylight, I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning, with the one object of seeing you and asking your advice," the lady finished her narrative. And there was silence. Nothing but the crackling of the fire was to be heard. But a million thoughts were racing through my mind. A sudden appreciation for Sherlock Holmes came onto me. It was hard enough when I already knew the solution, but imagine if you had actually solve it! I shook my head slowly.

"These are very deep waters," I said at last. "There are a thousand details which I should desire to know before I am to decide upon our course of action." It is unexplainable, however, the relief and gratitude I felt for the simple fact that the decision was not mine alone.

After we arranged for us to come to Stoke Moran later that day for some investigations, the lady dropped her black veil and glided gracefully from the room.

As soon as she left, I heard Watson letting out a breath which, by the sound of it, had been kept there for quite a long time.

"This is _for real_?"

"Looks like it." I grinned up at her. "Remember what's next?"

But before she could answer, the course of events answered for themselves.

First we heard footsteps, then the door flew open. But, to our surprise, instead of a huge burly man, a small scrawny boy of about eight shot into the room.

"Excuse me, sirs, I–" but his words were cut off with the roaring of a man's deep voice.

"Boy, where are you? Don't hide, for I shall find you!" An extremely tall and burly man entered the room in a rage. He spotted the boy.

"There you are!" he bellowed. "Now get out, and let me mind my business! GET OUT, YOU HEAR ME?" The boy dashed out at a lightning's speed.

"Now," our fiery visitor roared, "Which of you is Mr. Holmes?"

I swallowed hard. _Remember Sherlock Holmes' tactic_ , I told myself.

"My name, sir," I replied bluntly, staring at a loop in the wallpaper's pattern.

"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."

"Indeed, Doctor. Pray take a seat." I beckoned towards an empty chair, still staring at the wall.

"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?"

"It is a little cold for this time of the year," I counter-offered, trying hard to keep away the smile that was threatening to erupt onto my lips as I remembered all the times I used this quote to change the subject with a furious partner in conversation.

"WHAT HAS SHE BEEN SAYING TO YOU?!" screamed the old man furiously. This wasn't how most people I've met replied to this, but I was expecting it nevertheless. What was next? Daffodils... no, crocuses.

"But I have heard that the crocuses promise well," I continued in an imperturbable tone.

"Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop at me. "I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler."

My smile escaped.

"Holmes, the busybody!"

I grinned even wider.

"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"

Now this was just too much, and I burst out laughing. "Your conversation is most entertaining. When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught."

"I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here." He stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands. However, then, he did what I least expected. He threw it at the wall and chipped off a part. Snarling at me, he strode out.

That is just how Watson found me a minute later when she looked at me – sitting straight up in my chair with eyes wide as saucers, staring straight ahead.

"The poker," I whispered. "He wasn't supposed to throw it." I looked at Watson. "And the boy, too. He wasn't in the story. Oh, Watson, I have a terrible feeling about this."

And I was right.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Visit to Stoke Moran

"Stoke Moran, sir!"

I woke up with a start. It was later that same day – in the early afternoon, in fact – and I had fallen asleep on our trap ride to the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott. But now we were almost there.

"There is some building going on there," I remarked, "That is where we are going." _Not in the sense you understood it, but that's just how we want it,_ I thought to myself.

"There's the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left, "but if you want to get to the house, you'll find it shorter to go by the path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking."

"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," I remarked, shading my eyes. "Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest."

We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back to Leatherhead.

I climbed over the stile in silence, followed by Watson. I fell behind, and she had gone a distance on the foot-path when turning around, she saw me sitting on the stile, chin on breast. She walked back up to me.

"Why, Sherlock, what's the matter?"

"I am thinking that we should have used better disguises than that."

She looked at me with an element of surprise. "That's just how it is in the story!"

"Yes, yet... oh well, I am getting myself so worked up about this that I am starting to blank out as to what we are to do. 'Where there is no imagination, there is no horror', Holmes said, so I guess I had best leave that to later and get on with the events."

With that, we started up the footpath together.

* * *

Once we were in the mysterious room, I dutifully checked everything. The bed that was clamped to the floor, the dummy bell-pull – and the things that weren't in the story, as well – from the glass of water on the dresser to the lamp on the bedstand.

We were just giving Miss Stoner the final advice when there was a slam at the front door, followed by footsteps on the stair. The lady jumped and quickly bolted the door to the room. She had hardly done so when there was a rattle at the door, followed by the same gruff voice that we heard that same morning. "Open up, Helen! I know there's someone in there!"

I glanced at the door, then at the window, then at Miss Stoner's bed. With sudden decision, I dove under the bed, dragging Watson along with me. Then I stuck my head out of the bed-skirts, gave the pale-faced girl a quick nod, and retreated back under. We heard the door being unbolted, and, in the next instant, the gruff voice was in the room. "Well, where are they?"

"What are you talking about, father?" Miss Stoner's shaky voice inquired.

"Don't play tricks with me, I know they're here! I have gypsies hiding in the bushes by the road, and they report to me whenever they see someone around this house. Well, where are they? SPEAK UP!"

I was about to emerge from our hiding place in defense of the lady when there was a ring at the bell. A few moments later, we heard light footsteps on the step, and then a feminine voice in the room.

"Dr Roylott," we heard the voice say, "your packages are downstairs in the drawing room."

We heard nothing from the man, but a heavy footfall, gradually fainting away, assured us that we were once again freed from his very undesired presence. Venturing to peek out once more, I saw the palest face I had ever seen in my life. I scrambled from under the bed just in time to catch the fainting Miss Stoner. It was only now that I realized our position.

"I don't know what it was that made us find ourselves in Victorian England, Watson, as the real Holmes and Watson, but I know that it certainly isn't some strange dream," I spoke out loud. "It is something very real, Watson, something that desperately needs our help. And it is for sure not the same as in the book. This is something completely different, completely absurd. We will continue to act from what we have read of the speckled band no longer, but from now on from what we decide is best to do."

My friend carefully climbed back out and brought the glass of water from the dresser.

"Watson, stop there. Let me see that." I suddenly remembered something I saw in the glass. Laying Miss Stoner down onto her bed, I carefully re-inspected the glass, seeing shiny greyish flakes at the bottom. I pointed them out to Watson.

"Probably just mineral crystallization," she decided.

"No, minerals normally found in water don't look like this. Come, let us see one more thing."

We walked over the room of our client's stepfather. Opening the door slowly, Watson gave a gasp.

* * *

Right in the middle of the room stood a mysterious, menacing table with a small assortment of test tubes and beakers.

Watson looked at me and murmured, "I don't like this. I don't like this at all."

I stepped up to the table and observed. What caught my attention first was small bottle of shiny greyish flakes. Across the middle, on a piece of sticky cloth tape, was written in large black letters: Arsenic.

Watson and I stood for a moment in silence. Then she finally spoke.

"If he has the snake and he has poison, he might have more."

"You're right, Watson," I spoke in a low voice. "And he has already started using it. This is a house full of peril for the opposers of its evil master. We need to get out of here and get Miss Stoner out of here. Now."

"But how? Dr Roylott is downstairs."

"We'll get out of the window."

"He'll miss her. And he'll know where to go," Watson said in an exasperated tone. I bit my lip.

"And it's only two o'clock. We can't just pretend she's there." I paused for a moment. "Say, I have an idea. I just hope it'll work."

With that, we came back to Miss Stoner's room. She had just regained her senses as we walked in.

"Miss Stoner, the circumstances are very urgent. Pack what you need for the night and tell your stepfather that you are going to spend it at your aunt's. Do so. We will come in the morning to see what you are to do next." The lady nodded and hurriedly packed an over-night bag. When she left the room, I turned to Watson.

"We're out the window. Come, let's climb down the outside of the chimney." So we did, dropped into the long grass, and carefully crawled to the end of the field. I plopped down on the stile once more, still staring straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Watson sit down beside me.

"This is not the end. It is far from it. What are we going to do?" she said exasperatedly.

I closed my eyes, deep in thought. "The mystery does not exist for us, only the problem is as big as it can be. How are we to keep Dr Roylott from murdering his stepdaughter?"

Suddenly, I jumped to my feet. "That's it!" I exclaimed. "Watson, we must get back to Baker Street right now."


	4. Chapter 4 - We Make Two Discoveries

I practically flew into our flat. Throwing my hat on the hat-rack, I made a beeline to my bedroom and dove under the bed. I felt all over the floor, but did not find what I was looking for. I emerged to see Watson standing in the doorway, but I took little notice of her. I was sure it was here somewhere.

All the walls were examined inch by inch. Nothing was found.

"When we have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," I murmured as I gazed up at the ceiling.

And jumping up onto the bed, I finally found it.

"You see it, Watson? You see it?" I yelled gleefully.

"What! Is the snake here?" Watson was confused.

"No Watson, look!"

She climbed up to where I was standing, and saw it too. "A trapdoor! But... how is that going to help us prevent murder in Surrey?"

Instead of an answer, I simply lifted the trapdoor. And propped it up with the first thing underhand.

As soon as Watson saw that object, she exploded. "Sherlock! You are a genius! How on earth did you know..."

It was my desk lamp that I used for my fort. Under my bed. In my bedroom. At home.

We stood in silence for a minute – for the umpteenth time in this remarkably absurd day.

"We can escape and leave the whole problem behind," I stated slowly. "But are we going to?"

Watson and I looked each other in the eye. And at the same time, in one voice, we answered.

"No way."

* * *

We had been so immersed in the case that we had completely forgotten to have lunch. There is no way we could have stopped anytime earlier, but we decided to have an early dinner instead, and after we ate, we sat down in the sitting room to discuss the case.

"So what do we have? Helen described everything she experienced word-for-word as in the book. Yet we have clues that everything was different," Watson pondered slowly.

"Yes," I mused. "Everything seems to change right around the time we make our mysterious debut into this other dimension."

"Hmm."

"Let's start at the beginning. Ms Hudson seems fine, free of any alterations."

"Yes. She isn't a big part, though," Watson commented.

"Helen is, and she seems straight too."

"True. Everything is right on track, until that boy dashes in."

"Yes. By the way, what _did_ the boy want, anyway?" I sat back in my chair with a sudden new idea. "Could he have been one of the Baker Street Irregulars?"

"Hmm, probably."

"Yes, that's probably it," I decided. I could not help, however, but still wonder what he had wanted.

"Anyway, then storms in Dr Roylott," Watson continued.

"Dr Roylott is a main point of interest. He seems to be just a trifle more violent that he should be," I commented.

"Does that mean something?"

"It might."

* * *

After taking a fair amount of time pondering the facts, we had decided to go back to Stoke Moran, and patrol the night, just in case. We had come in the way we had come out earlier, and Watson had just gone to check on something, I heard the ominous voice of Dr Grimesby Roylott boom from the other room.

"Mwa ha ha ha! I've tackled your _precious_ Watson to the ground... now I'm tying him to a chair!"

My heart skipped a beat. The packages were a distraction in our first close shave, but it was too late to hide now. And he was indeed being more violent. He was attacking us! I ran into the room, swaying with a sudden dizziness that overtook me. But suddenly, I realized that that sentence sounded awfully familiar. And that's when it all came together in my brain.

I ran up and fearlessly grabbed Dr Roylott by the shirt.

" _ **WILLY!**_ " I yelled.

His ferocious face changed to an unrecognizable expression of the most utter surprise. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Watson gaping with a similar expression plastered all over her face, except more so, if such a thing be possible.

It was as though they were both in a trance, watching me listlessly as I freed my friend from the chair and turned to face Dr Roylott – that is, Willy.

"You're Dr Roylott, Willy, not Moriarty, in case you can't tell. And you ruined our wall."

Watson seemed to come back to her senses, and sputtered, "Willy!?"

"That's right," I grinned. "The ominous and dangerous Dr Roylott is just your little brother, who has exposed himself by exaggerating his new-found role way too much!" I said chuckling, the last part with a glare in Willy's direction.

My friend caught on. "Really, arsenic and violent attacks on everyone? Wasn't your role bad enough with the murder-weapon snake, stalking Helen, and yelling at us?"

"Naw," Willy answered with that eleven-year-old voice that was so familiar. "Being a mean old stepfather was too boring. It's way more exciting to be Moriarty!"

I just face-palmed.

* * *

XXX

Author's Note:

You may be confused about all these characters that are not what they seem. The idea is that you can't tell a "normal" person from a dimension-traveling one by their looks (or voice) until you realize what they really are by other clues, such as their behavior, their choice of words, or just plain logic. Then, for you, their voice and looks change to who they really are, but you can still switch back and forth and see what other people see, if you so wish. There is a bit of fantasy here, but this is the only such element in this story, other that how the weird characters got there in the first place.

And another thing... this is where what I have already written of the story ends. I've decided to experiment with the polls feature. You can vote for where I will take the story. The poll I have created for this purpose can be accessed through my profile page. Thanks so much for your support :)


	5. Chapter 5 - Willy

**_(Author's Note)_**

 _Hello! I'm so sorry for the long hiatus! I can now assure you, I will do my very best to continue this fic to its very end, and new chapters will be posted at least once every month. Thank you for for bearing with me!_

 _Also, another thing. During this time I have been writing a sort of science fiction thing in TV script format, and now I've found my writing style has changed slightly. It had gotten more chaotic and slightly more dialogue in proportion to descriptions. So, just, bear that in mind. If you want. Or not. I don't know. Anyway, here's the chapter._

* * *

"Sherlock, this is getting a bit ridiculous. This is the second time we've hopped between Surrey and London today."

I unlocked the door to our Baker Street flat and entered, followed by Willy and my friend. I will not call him Dr Roylott any longer, because now that we knew who he was we saw him as who he was. The perception filter had broken for us.

"Quite right. But then, exactly which part of today isn't?" I flopped down onto my chair, motioning for the two to sit down as well.

"So… do we go back now?" Watson wondered out loud. "Through the trapdoor? I mean, Helen's safe now, it's been Willinardo here and his ridiculous act all along."

"Are you kidding?" I sat up in disbelief. "The mystery's only just begun! Do you really think there just happened to be a trapdoor portal under my bed? And exactly why? How we all wake up in a parallel dimension straight out of the imagination of an author from the 19th century, and what's more, wearing perception filters, like we're on Doctor Who or something? No, no, no. There's something important here. Something I'm still missing. Something we need get to the bottom of."

"Alright, I got it," Watson responded. "But what about Willinar-"

"I swear, if you call me that ONE MORE TIME!" Willy cut in.

"Yes! Willy, back to you." I turned, glancing at the chipped wall pointedly. "Maybe if you could be a little more careful with the poker. Got rather caught up in the act, didn't you?"

"Sherlock."

"I am quite impressed with you remembering all the lines correctly, though. Or is that all part of that filter-thing?"

"Sherlock!"

"Well, you might as well go fix it now. Come on, chop chop!"

"Sherlock!" Watson tried to catch my attention for the third time, practically shouting by now.

"What?"

"What's with the voice? You're going 90 miles per hour, you never talk like this! You're always logical and musing, quiet and calm. But suddenly, you've gone nuts."

"That's because, we've entered my domain. It's taken me this long to realize, it's this. I thought it was the logic and the endless nights surrounded by case files and questions, questions, questions. But that's just part of the picture. It's the adventure. The running, the split-second decisions, the blood pumping through the veins. Throw in dimension-portal trapdoors and perception filters on the verge of shapeshifting technology, and we're sorted. That's my domain. It's always been that."

Watson smiled. "I always knew that. Good to know you're finally admitting it too."

Willy hadn't moved. "If I might interrupt."

"I'm not quite sure, but I think that chip is still there."

"How long are you going to go on about that?"

"Until you fix it, and even then, I'm not making any promises."

"I'm Dr Roylott, and you're not my mum! I could just walk out of here right now, you know?"

"Well…" I shrugged at him. We had made him come to Baker Street with us so that he wouldn't go on with his ridiculous Moriarty role-playing. No one had been afraid of a manic 11-year-old back in our universe, but when he acquired an illusion of a burly physique and giant booming voice, it's quite a different story. "You could, but what would be the point? I'm afraid Dr Roylott's nemeses are clued in, so there's no more terrorizing us for you. And I'm not going to let you do that to poor Helen and the maid, either. Instead, maybe you could help us. Come on, Willy. Solving a borderline sci-fi mystery versus being a sub-par bad guy who dies at the end of the story anyway."

Willy squirmed for a second, considering. "Alright, then. Fine."

I sat back. One thing was sorted, at least. "Good."

"So, where do we start?"

"Well…" I grinned and nodded towards the wall.


	6. Chapter 6 - Science Fiction

I looked around the front room of our – Sherlock Holmes' – flat. The fireplace, blazing with flames that Mrs Hudson had kindly started again. The round dining table, with a teapot and cups. From the way all three of us – Watson, her brother, and I – loved tea, you could have thought we were British. The patterned wallpaper – I scanned my eyes across the wall to where Willy had finally repaired the chip. Two armchairs, Holmes' and Watson's. I occupied one while my friend occupied the other, and Willy sat in a dining table chair we had pulled up.

Outside it was past dark. We had spent a whole day in this world. I wasn't wrong when I said today would be tough and exciting. But I had a feeling tomorrow would be equally so. We had agreed to stay the night here – I didn't want to wake up and discover the trapdoor was no longer there. Watson had the good sense not to mention the fact that I was more worried about being stuck on the right side of the door than on the wrong side. But any which way, I knew I wouldn't be able to leave, not even for a night, until we got to the bottom of what was going on here.

I looked at the two people occupying the chairs opposite me. As much as Willy was almost always a twit, the moment it turned dark he always settled down. And thank goodness for that. Now, we had an actual chance to work together. And we were, all evening – just talking, processing everything that had happened, trying to draw out clues and fit them together like bricks. But everything about this was strange. It wasn't your classic Sherlock Holmes mystery. It was more like Doc- oh well, I won't say that again. But still, no use arguing with facts. This was a mystery we were trying to solve without knowing anything at all. I had spent years learning, trying to acquire skills and knowledge, so that maybe, one day, when a mystery more fascinating that a stolen car in a town four hours from me comes up, I might actually have a chance to solve it.

But now… it was hardly believable. If I had bet that things like that would be useful someday when my mum gave me a look after seeing my monograph on systems of temporal physics in science fiction, I would be rich now. But it was true. Sherlock Holmes once said, one of the things essential for a good detective is knowledge. Now, I know that you never know what knowledge will come in use.

"Sherlock?" Watson's voice interrupted my musings.

"What?"

"What should we do now?"

"Well, I was thinking–" Then my brain caught up with my mouth. I cocked my head, trying to make sense of that look on her face that was trying to tell me something. "Oh! You're tired, aren't you? Well, I suppose you two should go to bed then. I think I'll stay up a bit more. I don't feel like sleeping."

Watson shook her head amusedly. "Really, Sherlock, I don't know how you can sleep for two hours a night and be just fine."

I open my mouth to defend myself. "Oh, but I don't sleep for two hours every night! Most nights I sleep six or seven."

"Still! Normal people sleep more than that."

"Well, it's hardly my fault _normal people_ want to waste so much time of their lives _sleeping_!"

After a moment, we both chuckled good-naturedly.

"Alright then, we're off to bed."

"Good night."

I buried myself in my thoughts once more. What did I know? Just some nonsense about the Firestone and psychic pollen. No, maybe not that. I had said earlier today that this wasn't a dream or hallucination. But what, then?

"Bubble universe," I mumbled.

And then it hit me. Like a brick.

I rushed upstairs, muttering an anxious _no, no, no, No!_ under my breath. But my suspicions were confirmed. The beds were slept in, but Watson and Willy were nowhere to be seen.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N**_

 _ **This chapter is a bit shorter than usual. Sorry about that! However, I do hope to have some major events in the next couple chapters.**_

* * *

The clock on the wall ticked off the hours as I paced the room restlessly. They were gone. And if I slept, I'd be gone too. I had figured it out. We woke up in this place – and the two of them had disappeared when they fell back asleep. Therefore, our existence in this place was reliant on our being conscious in it. But why? This wasn't a dream! And why had we come here in the first place? Never mind how, why?

Questions, questions, questions. I picked up my pace and stormed around the room in a frustrated fury. Left, right. Why had we come here? Left, right. Did this place even exist before we came? Left, right. It should have. Otherwise we wouldn't have a backstory. Left, right. Oh no, did this mean we replaced the real people in the story? And they were back now that Watson and "Dr Roylott" were gone?

Suddenly my pacing was cut short as my foot caught on the edge of a rug. I sprawled forward, and everything went black.

The first thing I felt was the cold hard floor under my cheek. And then my head. It hurt. Quite a bit. Looking up, I could see through the window the sky above the buildings was starting to show signs of sunrise. I pushed myself up into a sitting position, rubbing my forehead. I must have tripped and knocked myself out.

Knocked myself out. I jumped up onto my feet. But… that meant… I had been unconscious! Yet I was still here!

I rushed to the bedrooms again, hoping, hoping that I had been wrong. I burst in. But no. The beds were still empty. I hung my head and dejectedly made my way back to the front room. I sat down into an armchair and started to think. What should I do? Why hadn't I gone? Or maybe, I had gone and returned. But then, why hadn't they?

I could go through the trapdoor and leave this whole problem behind. But would I? As Watson and I had decreed. Not a chance. However, I did need my sidekick. I'd be lost without her. I would probably overthink everything and be much too reckless and before long, she'd probably have to break me out of the Tower of London.

I was a hair-breadth away from banging my head on the wall in frustration when I heard the last thing I ever thought I would.

"Sherlock, have you been up all night?"


End file.
